To be Beloved
by jarta
Summary: Does the walker chooses the path, or the path chooses the walker? A Seimeicentric fic. on hiatus I've lost interest.


Disclaimer: I don't own Loveless and any of its characters.

A/N: Ho! I just turned 18 and celebrated my debut the whole afternoon at the computer shop! wahahaha! I'm not really sure what made me write this fanfic except that I just wanted to understand Seimei more. He's the most mysterious character in Loveless and it's just so frustrating the he has such a small yet crucial part on it. Truth is, I wanted to bang my head on the keyboard right now because I've noticed that all the fanfics I made are angsty. I'm not an angsty person. Although, there's a part of me that its angsty it usually hidden somewhere on my subconscious. I love humor, laughter and romance. I hate myself...wahaha!

Thank you to my bestfriend Kippa who helped me on encoding this fic and uploading it. And also to Bhaby, Kippa's youngest sister, whom Kippa bullied on encoding this...wahahahaha!

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A chair was knocked down. The deafening silence that they had been enduring moments ago was broken with the enraged voice of his father. The tension in the air increased as the boy remained sprawled on the floor.

A whispered "Nii-san" was heard in one corner and the boy, his cheek stinging from the blow, opened his eyes. He had barely registered the upside down sight of his mother urging his younger brother out of the room before he was dragged upward by his collar to meet his father's flushed face. He could smell the alcohol on his father's breath and see his glaring blood shot eyes but he met it with an indignant stare of his own.

"Stop!" his mother protested on a pitiful voice, begging. "Stop it! Leave him alone."

The boy was thrown violently and his back slammed on a chest of drawers, the edge, carvings and the handle digging on his back. He gasped of air and winced painfully as he let himself slid down. Disoriented, it was moments before he could absorb the scene playing in front of him.

His mother was curled fetally on the floor, beside the table with the laid out dinner forgotten, while his father loomed over her, kicking her ruthlessly and swearing at her. Whimpers of pain escaped from her and it was enough for the boy to see red. With the scream of fury, he charged towards his father and tackled him down. The boy proceeded on punching his father wildly with both fists. Of course, it didn't last long.

But the loathe he felt for that man numbed him, protecting him from the pain as his father regained the upper hand and retaliated.

* * *

The taptaptap on the keyboard and the click click on the mouse could be heard amidst the sounds of explosions and battle cry of what seems to be a war. The room was cloaked in darkness with the only source of light coming from the computer monitor. With it on, the boy's face made him look eerie.

Seimei was concentrating on the computer game and trying not to notice the throbbing pain on his face and on various parts of his body. His father was particularly more violent that night that it was a miracle he didn't brake any bones. Beside the computer, on th same desk, lay his unfinished homeworks and assignments. There's no use doing it then, because he would be absent from school for a few days because of his poor health. His mother would call his homeroom adviser to inform her again.

Soft knocks came and a muffled "Nii-san" could be heard outside his bedroom door. Seimei ignored it.

"Nii-san," his younger brother called in a louder voice. "I've brought food. You haven't eaten dinner yet. Dad already left."

"Go away," seimei replied in an emotionless voice, the movement of his fingers, hands and arms becoming jerky and agitated.

"But mom has to look at your wounds and bruises. It needs to be tr-"

"Ritsuka," seimei broke in warningly. He paused the game because he could not concentrate on it.

"B-but…"

"Look, I don't want to deal with you right now. Why don't you retreat to your own little corner and pretend that these didn't happen as you usually do?" he glared at the monitor.

"Nii-san…" Ritsuka whined but was interrupted by someone. Seimei could here foot steps coming followed by murmurs and his younger brother protesting half- heartedly then a set of lighter footsteps leaving.

"Seimei," this time it was his mother speaking to him. "Your wounds need to be treated. Open up, I have to look at it."

The boy rose from where he sat and crossed the room towards the door. He opened it slipping on his indifferent mask. His mother was still wearing the same clothes she wore at the dinner, now crumpled and a mess. She doesn't have bruises on her face, just a cut and slightly swollen lip but seimei knew there were on her body hidden within her clothes. She was balancing a tray of food on both hands and on one hand just under the tray was the small white box of first aid kit.

"I can do it myself." He told her as he took the first aid kit, ignoring the food, and slamming the door closed. He locked it before switching the light on and retracing his steps back to his desk. He pushed his books and notebooks on one side and put down the kit on the cleared space. He pulled open a drawer under his desk and retrieved a rectangular framed mirror the size of his palm. The mirror reflected his image, his beat-up face. The bruises on his cheek. The cut and swollen lower lip. A left black eye already forming. His eyes flashing with deep hatred.

Hatred towards his father for being a pathetic good for nothing drunkard, gambler and a sadist. He hated how that man took out his foul mood on them.

Hatred towards his mother for her incompetence on protecting her sons from her husband's wrath. He hated her for her obvious favoritism on Ritsuka.

Hatred toward his younger brother for being a foolish little brat with his smiles, laughter and cheerful attitudes despite their dysfunctional family. He hated Ritsuka because Seimei couldn't fathom him.

And most of all, hatred towards himself for being weak and hopeless.

As he proceeded on treating his own wounds, he thought as he grimaced that maybe a week or more of absence would be needed to recuperate.

And as he lay awake that night on his bed, he had only one thought on his mind. One wish. One goal.

To be strong. To be powerful. To be invincible.

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A/N: So what do you think? Pls leave a review. It's funny how I can't read this without squirming with this stories angstiness when I wrote it myself. wahahaha!


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